


Damned if You Don't

by lionessvalenti



Category: Hair - MacDermot/Rado/Ragni
Genre: Community: slashthedrabble, Fear, Frottage, M/M, Multi, Recreational Drug Use, Slash, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-22
Updated: 2011-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionessvalenti/pseuds/lionessvalenti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Berger comforts Claude the only way he knows how.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Damned if You Don't

They got stoned, and after Sheila fell asleep, Berger crawled across the floor to where Claude was gazing at the ceiling, looking for images in the plaster.

"It's cold in here," Claude said. "Is the window open?"

"No," Berger replied. He fell down beside Claude, and rested a hand on his friend's chest, his palm over a hardened nipple. "There's no heat."

Claude laughed, letting the humor warm him, and -- no, it was Berger, rolling on top of him. That was the warmth, the warmth of bodies pressing together, of friendship and beauty and pot.

Berger's mouth was against his, hot and sweet. It was like they sometimes did, and it was artistry and it was love.

Claude loved Berger like he loved Sheila. He grabbed onto Berger's shoulders, like they both might float away as Berger reached down to pull his cock from his jeans. He rubbed against Claude's leg, kissing Claude with his whole mouth -- with his lips, his teeth and his tongue. His uvula. The inside of his cheeks.

Berger came on the inside of Claude's thigh, and Claude laughed again. He ran the tips of his fingers over Berger's face, feeling the smooth, slightly greasy skin and rough stubble. He laughed, and he laughed until there were tears running down his cheeks and into his ears.

"I don't want to die," Claude whispered. He was shaking and he didn't know if it was the cold or fear. If he went, he was going to die. He knew he was going to die.

"Then don't," Berger said, like it was as simple as that. "Fuck, man. Be free." He sat up on his knees and spread his arms like they were eagle wings. "Be free!"

His shouting woke up Sheila, and she blinked at them both, taking in Berger's limp cock still hanging out the front of his jeans and the wet spot on Claude's pants. She smiled and wiped away Claude's tears before pressing a kiss to his forehead. She curled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"Come here," she said, motioning for Berger to join them.

He made a face, but fell down face forward onto Claude as well. Sheila ran her hand through his hair and murmured, "That's better," against Claude's cheek.

Claude closed his eyes, wrapped up in his warm cocoon of safety. She was right. It was better.


End file.
